


Before Sunset

by MatchLight



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:06:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26187670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatchLight/pseuds/MatchLight
Summary: The Abyss bled from his body, soaking the edges of his cape, and drips onto the floor like soft rain.
Relationships: Chosen undead & Artorias the Abysswalker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Before Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> Second person perspective from the chosen undead. Not really following canon lore. Enjoy :D

A voice came from the damp canopy of the cliff face and drew your attention. Stood in the shadows, amongst bags of belongings, was a human. Fine mists of the lower Royal Woods clung to his coat. The shape of his body seemed to waver by the flickering candle light placed at his foot. 

"Have you met Knight Artorias?" He sneered at you. He had a smooth voice, the kind only suited for two professions, either a holy man or a swindler, and you are sure this man in front of you have not a single speck of holiness in him. 

You rested your weight on your back leg and tightened the grip on your sword. He unsettles you like most everything in this forest. You stared down the sculpted smile of his mask and was glad of the anonymity offered by your helm. Though anonymity is useless in Lordran, for one does not go out of their way to know someone anyways, but it offered you a soft pulsing comfort of confidence. 

"Knight Artorias died a long time ago." You said. 

He clicked his tongue at you and scoffed. You were suddenly annoyed by his dismissal, and broadened your shoulders to show your displeasure. You have bested the first of the dead and was the kingslayer of New Londo. All but one grand soul fell by your hands. This man was nothing in comparison, why must he act so discourteous? 

He chuckled at your display and crossed his arms to lean back against the cliff. He tilted his chin skywards and looked down upon you as he spoke, "You and I are both victims. Sucked in by a horrible force and thrown into the past!" He paused, then as if reading your mind, he added, "Your previous achievement means nothing here. For we now stand on a land writhing with darkness, and the dark favours ones who have darkness within them... You are a human, an undead one at that, but your soul burns very brightly, my friend." 

The past... You are certain that you are within Lordran, yet a land brimming with dark? You shifted your weight from leg to leg. What he said unnerved you. It is true that the humans held manifestations of the Dark. Your progenitor split their Soul and passed it down to their progeniture. You, eons into the future holds a small fragment of the Dark Soul, it burns within you, alongside the brand of the undead. But you do not believe that you are any less human by following the path of the gods. Darkness or not, you were also a product of the First Flame. 

And this peculiar stranger in front of you seemed to gain pleasure by feeding poisonous thoughts into your mind. He claimed to be from the future as well, which was easy to believe, for he seemed even more out of place than you were, what with his strange hat and strange way with words. Though you struggled to imagine a future where one would abandon the safety of armour and trade it for thin cotton and fabrics. You saw no weapons beside him or amongst his belongings. Perhaps he came from a peaceful world, where one could drop their swords and adopt something more civilised. Yet, judging by his character, you really doubt it. 

Choosing to ignore most of what he said, you thought about the legendary Knight of which he had mentioned. If you are truly in the past...

"Sir Artorias is alive then." You exclaimed mostly to yourself but was startled by the man's sudden sleazy laughter. The sound, like a serpent's slick tongue, trailed up your back and bit at your nape. 

He seemed very amused by what you said as if he was enjoying a vile joke that no one but himself was privy to. Then in a voice so deep, and dripping with malicious delight he said: 

"Not entirely."

You shook your head. Enough with this foolery. If he wished to be cruel and cryptic, then so be it, but you do not have to stand and endure it. You turned around and walked away, sparing him not a word more. His laughter trailed after your footsteps.

Across the bridge was a flat land dense with thin trees, and on either side of you stood the ruins of Oolacile. To your right was the remains of a grand arena. 

The gate of the arena was shrouded by a thick and tangible fog. Not something you are unfamiliar with. It is an aspect that you have accepted as a peculiar part of Lordran, just like the stillness of nature and the never setting sun. 

You steadied your sword and with one hand in front of you and waded through the white wall. No matter how many times you have done this before, it was an unpleasant feeling you would not get accustomed to. It was always cold, like wearing a pair of soaked fur boots and trudging hours in the snow, or riding a horse through a violent stream, where the pounding of freezing water bites through your armour and into your skin. 

But traversing the fog tugs strangely at one's heart as well. It feels like saying goodbye and at the same time greeting someone new. It is as if you were exiting one realm and entering another. Where the past and the future ceased to exist and lock you into a singularity that is the present. 

You came through on the other side of the wall, and the fog dissipates behind you. Soft hazy sunlight shone into the arena and through the cracks in the stonework, painting strips of gold on the pillars. The floor was worn and blanketed by a soft green moss that felt slippery under your boots. 

But you paid no attention to the peaceful scenery for in the centre of the stadium sat a figure. His legs crossed and his hands were resting gently in his lap. A greatsword lay close to him within reach. 

Knight Artorias...

His helm was turned towards you. You have his attention but he remained motionless, even the subtle rise and fall of one's chest was absent. You stared into the space under the crest of his helm where his face was supposed to be but was met with blankness.

There was nothing under his hood. You tried to discern any features but was unable to make out anything. His face seemed to be cast into a shade darker than even the void of New Londo. 

You adjusted your sword, unsure of what to do. By Gwyn, there was truth in the cruelty from the stranger by the bridge... 

If this indeed is Sir Artorias and not some form of caricature from the Abyss, then he was nothing like the legends had described. He looked... wrong. The armour was dull and chipped. The shredded cape was softy writhing in the windless air. But the worst of all was the blue-black ooze that slowly seeps through the seams of his armour, thinner than blood but thicker than water. 

You wondered how much flesh was left beneath the armour, or had he been entirely consumed and replaced by living shadows that mimic the appearance of a man. Head perpetually facing the entrance of the arena. 

You dared not to move or speak in case you accidentally provoke him.

That was, until he spoke.

"Thou art human..." His voice was unexpectedly soft, it reminded you of a quiet daybreak in springtime, where the sky was the colour of lilac and the world was yet to be void of the warmth of the Flame. 

He paused and slightly tilted his head downwards, "Thou must be a traveller. There is naught left to see in Oolacile. I bid thee to leave, prithee." 

"I am not a traveller." You said, "But I have a quest to complete. I must go into the Abyss and face Manus."

Upon hearing that, his entire body jerked upright. His hand subconsciously went to grasp his greatsword, and the seeping of the abyss had sped up, where the liquid now dripped freely from his body. You quickly back stepped in alarm and raised your shield in defence. 

"Thou must not!" He exclaimed. But after seeing your unease he quickly softened his posture, "I didst not mean to upset thee. But the Abyss is dangerous, I... I could not bear to hast another life lost to its darkness."

You sheathed your sword and strapped your shield to your back. Long ago you have accepted your fate, the one that was assigned by Kingseeker Frampt. You took a few steps forwards towards the knight and sat down beside him. He towers over you even though he too was sitting. The tendrils of Abyss squirm in your direction, drawn by your proximity. You tried not to be afraid. 

"There is no choice to be made." You said, "I bear a heavy burden, it is decided so by Fate. Though you do not have to worry for my safety. I am undead." 

He tilted his helm to observe you. "Thy burden... Nay human should bear such a burden to thwart the Abyss. I value thy valiance, but I must bid thee again to leave." 

You shook your head. "You may not believe me but... I am from the future. And the future is a very different world to now."

"Thou art strange, little one." He laughed, it was a soft sound that echoed around you. You know he was not mocking you, but only caught up in his disbelief.

"It is true." You added solemnly, trying to find ways to prove it to him. You then remembered the Covenant of Artorias and hastily unstrapped your gauntlet.

"Here," you said, showing him the thin golden ring on your forefinger, "You recognise this do you not? It belonged to you."

You saw that he curled one hand over the other, touching the finger where he no doubt would be wearing the very same ring as you do.

He was silent for a long time. You pulled back your gauntlet and readjusted the straps. You could hear leaves rustling from outside the arena but could not feel the wind. 

"There is a companion of mine," He starts, "He is a great wolf, and he is most dear to me. Thou art from the future, hast thou..." He struggled with his words, unsure of how to voice his question. 

You remembered the great wolf that you had faced on the knight's grave. You had thought he was one of Alvina's creatures. 

"He lived a long life," You decided to say, "and guards very fervently over your grave." 

"I had failed him in the Abyss. I thought he..." Artorias sighed deeply, his shoulders dropped, and the tendrils of the shadows seemed to calm around him. 

"What of the Abyss then?" He asked. 

"It is contained," You answered, "Whether it is by my hand or someone else's. You need not worry."

"Very well." He stood and you scrambled to do the same. Being this close to him you see yourself only reaching his waist in height. Droplets of darkness still seeped from his armour and pooled at his feet. You feel the shadows lap at your ankles and was unable to curb the discomfort that tingled at your nape. 

He heaved his great sword from the ground and carefully strapped it to his back. He then took a few steps towards the entrance of the arena. His movements were unnaturally fluid, like silk in the Autumn wind or a gauze scarf lost to rapid river currents. 

He turned around and bid you farewell.

"It is my time to leave." He said, "I thank ye. Truly."

He quietly slipped away from the arena and disappeared in the shade of the royal woods. There was no evidence of his existence except for the pools of blue-black Abyss that now slowly sank into the stone floors. 

You stood around in the open with your eyes closed, bathing in the warm sunlight of Oolacile.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please tell me your thoughts. Sorry that this piece is slightly self indulgent.


End file.
